


Your Place Among the Stars

by shinigami714



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Angst, Character Death, Fiki, Historical, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Physical Disability, Political Unrest, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-07 19:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11630154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/pseuds/shinigami714
Summary: In an age long past, Kili is suddenly thrust into a position of power for which he is not ready.  Forced to deal with a kingdom left in turmoil after his father's tumultuous reign, Kili must choose who to trust, while making decisions that are worthy of a Pharaoh.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After having this sitting in my word docs for two years or so I decided it was finally time to get the ball rolling. This story is inspired by the life and times of King Tutankhamun. I've done my best to include some historically accurate references, but the vast majority of it will be fiction, as I've taken many creative liberties, and my knowledge isn't perfect. Rating may change once I get to later chapters, and tags will be added. Hope you guys enjoy! :)
> 
> This first part is just a teaser really, the actual first chapter will be up later tonight!

__

* * *

“Can you believe this Ori?” Kíli gasped, his eyes wide as he practically pressed his nose against the glass display case featuring jewels centuries old.  They were beautiful, intricate and precise designs made by living people in ages past. 

“I’ve wanted to see this exhibition for so long.  It’s like a dream,” he whispered, and Ori grinned at him from the other side of the glass, taking a moment to sketch out the earrings on display.  Kíli paused for a few seconds, but he didn’t stick around in one place long, whizzing about the room to look at everything from the many elegant sarcophagi, to the ornate chairs and beds that had been excavated from the Pharaoh’s tomb.  The craftsmanship was incredible.

Kíli strolled past a series of decorative canes, featuring all sorts of animals and insects adorning the handles.  The owner must have been a very important person in his lifetime to have such an extensive collection. The brunet twirled around excitedly, pausing briefly to read the inscription beneath a headdress before moving on. There was something so incredible about witnessing history first hand, but ancient Egypt had always fascinated him the most.  He loved the mythology, the language, and the art.  There was so much care put into every act of life, so many ceremonies and rituals even after a person’s death.  It would have been such a different time, simpler in some ways, but so much more complicated in others.

And then of course there was the mystery of it all. 

It was impossible to know exactly what had happened in a time so long ago.  Sure, there were theories, but no real living proof.  One could only speculate about the daily life of an individual from over three thousand years prior, and the secrets pertaining to this particular Pharaoh were incredibly intriguing. 

Kíli stretched his arms out behind his body, standing on his toes before skipping to the next display. His eyes widened as they fell upon the roped off area featuring one of the Pharaoh’s outfits on a custom dress form.   Kíli’s jaw dropped as he took in the elegant garment, but it was the necklace draped across the shoulder frame that really captured his attention.  It was shaped after beautiful bird of some kind, wings outspread to frame the neck in a delicate way.  It was stunning, and Kíli found it increasingly difficult to breathe the longer he looked upon it.  He could almost imagine what it would be like…to wear it.  He could almost feel it upon his neck, the metal settled atop his own skin like it had always been there to protect him. 

Kíli frowned, turning his head to the side as he took in a shaky breath.  He blinked to clear his vision, but couldn’t keep his gaze from veering back, and before he knew it, Kíli was stepping over the guard ropes and inching ever closer to the item.  He ignored the signs that clearly warned otherwise, focused solely on getting to the amulet that beckoned to him.  Without thinking, his fingers reached out to touch, sliding over the precious gemstone that shaped the solar disc above the bird’s head.  The jewel was cool beneath his skin, and he was surprised when another set of fingers touched his own atop it, slotting in between his digits like they were two parts from the same puzzle.

Kíli finally turned, finding himself faced with the strangest set of blue eyes he’d ever seen.  And yet he knew them, so very well.  His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he had the chance his world faded from view, vision blackening at the edges as he collapsed into a strong embrace.


	2. Chapter 1: Aten

* * *

The sun was hot and high in the sky, the mark of a blessed day, though it felt anything but.  

Dark eyes scoured the expanse of sand beyond.  Kíli could see the horizon in the distance, the wavering line that ran across the edge of the desert, whatever lay beyond hidden from sight.  He turned his head, long raven braid dragging over a bony spine as he searched the distance for something of interest, but there was nothing.  Just sand, and the flat planes and whitewashed stone of the buildings in the capital of Akhetaten.   To the North lay the palace, the only remarkable building in sight, and it stood out from the surrounding land like a sore thumb.  It was all Kíli had ever known.  And though he had little idea of what else could possibly exist, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the world beyond the holy city.

His chin lowered, and he watched the many faces staring up at him in distaste.  A steely blue gaze met with his, and Kíli startled, taking in the stiff profile of the army commander before looking away hurriedly.  The other soldiers stared as well, ready to fight, whether for or against him Kíli could not be sure.  Not even the men meant to protect him wanted him there in that moment.  He sucked in his lower lip slightly and tightened his hold on the cane between his fingers.  His legs were already aching from kneeling, and his skin was covered in a sweaty sheen.  He was overheated, and nervous, not ready for the title that was about to be bestowed upon him.  He could see the drops of sweat forming on his upper lip, glistening on his skin, and he struggled not to wipe them away.  Even the golden fans his servants waved on either side did little to help.  His vision blurred slightly, but cleared when both the Vizier and Balin moved to kneel at his sides. 

“Ra has blessed you on this day, the sun shines so brightly,” Balin whispered happily in his ear, and the Vizier tensed to Kíli’s left, turning to glare at the older man.  His lips pursed and Kíli watched as the skinny man leaned forwards to glare at his aging teacher.

“Be careful what you say, we do not worship the old gods anymore.  Have you forgotten already Balin?  Aten is all that matters.  It is Aten who blesses you, my lord,” The Vizier drawled.  His thin eyebrows lowered over sunken eyes, and Kíli thought he looked much like a snake, ready to snap at its prey.  But Balin merely laughed and nodded at him in return.  Kíli eyed them both warily before turning to look back at the crowd.  They were growing restless, and the guards began pushing people away as they tried inching up the stairs of the Great Temple.

“Forgive me, I am getting old, these things tend to slip my mind,” Balin murmured, a soft smile still present on his face.  He sighed wearily, and groaned as he moved to stand.  Kíli lowered his gaze towards the rock beneath his knees, letting his thoughts wander as the ceremony began.  He was the centre of attention, but he felt strangely detached from it all, like little more than a pawn.  It was overwhelming.  His chest tightened, his breathing staggering for a moment as he willed himself to steady its pace.  Everything had happened so fast, the assassination of his father, the ceremonies, the rushed construction of his tomb.  And now Kíli was meant to rule in his father’s stead, rule the people that looked at him like he was something vile and disgusting. The very people that had conspired against his father.  Anyone in that crowd could have been the killer, just waiting for the right moment to finish him off as well.  Both Balin and the Vizier had tried to hide it all from him, but he was no fool.  Kíli heard the whispers in the corridors around the palace, saw the way the servants huddled together and stared at him as he hobbled by.  He was physically impaired, not deaf and blind.

Kíli jolted as a necklace was lowered over his shoulders, the cold metal touching down on his warm collar.  A few seconds later and an ornate headdress was placed atop his hair, and he sat stiffly as it constrained the movement of his neck.  Words were spoken, shouted out at the people watching, but to Kíli it was little more than an echo from a distant land.  He wasn’t ready for this.  He knew it.  The people knew it.  But there was no choice.        

Balin touched the back of his neck and Kíli bowed his head and raised his arms towards the sky like he was told.  Reaching up towards Aten, for his blessing.  Kíli’s gaze slipped, and he saw the faces in the crowd shift before something was thrown in his direction.  He froze as a rock shattered across the stone beside him, and then the crowd booed, many people screaming obscenities at him.  All at once the people around him were in an uproar.  The Vizier shouted commands towards the army while the guards held back the rush of onlookers, and Kíli’s eyes widened as the commander drove his blade into a man’s belly before rushing to his side.  He hardly noticed his surroundings as Balin hurried to whisk him away beneath the cover of his litter, guards lining the sides and lifting it as they moved back towards the palace.  Kíli winced slightly as the staggered movements jarred his legs and knees, but his attention was elsewhere, looking back at the chaos and steadily growing pile of dead bodies across the temple grounds.

* * *

Kíli gazed out towards the Nile, silently wishing that he could board one of the various ships or skiffs floating atop its surface.  It was said to go on for ages. It was unlikely there was enough rope in all the land to measure the river’s length. He wondered what it would be like to walk away from the obligations that awaited him and sail across the water for days, to another life altogether.  A life he did not fear he might lose at the hands of every man and woman nearby.  Even the commander frightened him, standing just across the room, watching him closely like _Kíli_ was the one that was dangerous. The brunet sighed audibly before turning to face the other men in the room, his fingers toying with the cane propped against his chair nervously.

“Ignore these peasants my Pharaoh, they mean nothing,” the Vizier drawled, taking a moment to sip his wine. “You are the new representation of Aten, you are everything,” he insisted, though the words did little to settle Kíli’s nerves.  Aten had not protected his father, in the end, despite his endless worshiping of the god.

“Why do they hate me?” Kíli asked, his voice shakier than he wanted.  He didn’t understand why so many people were angry at him, without ever having met him.

“Everything will be alright my child, they are not angry at you, but at those who came before you,” Balin tried to comfort him.  He knew his father had done some questionable things near the end of his reign, made unusual choices.  But Kíli was not his father, and the people did not seem to care.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the people have always hated the Pharaoh.  They are jealous of his power, of his divine right to rule.  They are jealous that Aten chooses to speak only through him,” the Vizier argued. He pursed his lips angrily and straightened out his robe with gangly fingers.

“There is unrest in our Kingdom.  Even you must see that Vizier,” the commander finally drawled in a near whisper.  Kíli glanced towards him with wary eyes, surprised to hear such a soft spoken voice come from a war hardened man. 

“Fíli is right, the economy has been neglected for years now, as have our relations with other countries.  The army is in a terrible state, I’m sure its commander can attest to that better than you or I,” Balin commented, and he received a slight nod from the blond warrior.

“This desert we live in is miserable.  There are no resources, nothing of value.  There is no ma’at here.  We must seek to restore some sort of balance,” Fíli explained, his expression darkening as he spoke.  Balin hummed in agreement while the Vizier bristled and sat forwards in his seat. Kíli frowned in confusion, not understanding what they were talking about.  All he ever saw outside of the palace walls was the temple and the pathway to it.  He didn’t see the state of the people, or the surrounding villages, and as far as he’d been told, their kingdom was a prosperous one, their army, prestigious.

“Aten shines on this land, he has willed it,” the Vizier sneered, and he sloshed wine over his fingers as he gestured outside with his chalice. 

“Perhaps, but the people have every right to be angry, and until something is done about these issues they will continue acting as such,” Fíli argued.  The Vizier growled low in his throat and stood up, holding his chin high.

“What would a foreigner know!” the thin man mocked, and Fíli visibly tensed, his jaw clenching as his eyes gleamed in fury.  The commander stepped forwards, one hand tightening on the hilt of the khopesh strapped to his hip.

“There will be time for these discussions later,” Balin interrupted, rising to his feet quickly to stand between the other two.  “Today, Kíli is pharaoh; we should celebrate with a great feast, not more bloodshed.”

The three men stood in silence for a moment, no one willing to back down, while Kíli grasped his cane tightly between his fingers.  His knuckles had paled from his tense grip, while the nails on his other hand dug painfully into his left leg.  The last thing he wanted was to witness another death, and among the men he was supposed to trust for advice and counsel.   After a long pause, Fíli relaxed slightly, letting go of his blade as he stepped away.  The tension in the room lessened, but even after many minutes had passed and the room was once again filled with lighter conversation, Kíli still felt greatly unsettled.  His thoughts wandered to the people.  He could almost see those hate filled eyes staring up at him, hear the angry words they whispered under their breath.  He felt the commander’s icy gaze fall upon him, and Kíli averted his eyes, afraid of what else he might see within those judgemental blue eyes.

* * *

The royal army was nothing like he had expected.  It was half the size Kíli had imagined, and the men loitered around the edges of the encampment like they were there to gamble instead of fight. Of all of them, Fíli looked the most ready for battle, his armour fastened, his weapons holstered and strapped to his body.  But even he appeared unenthused to be there, clearly only escorting Kíli through the training grounds because his duty as commander required it.

Yet more eyes followed his movements in disapproval, watching him as he used his cane to walk further inside the grounds.  Kíli knew exactly what they were thinking.  That he was too young, too unprepared, too…weak.  He frowned at the mere thought.

”This is no place for a child,” one of the men hissed.  He was bald, and twice even Fíli’s size, leaning against the clay border wall like he had nothing better to do.

“He will command this army one day,” the Vizier spat from behind him, and Kíli tried not to feel small as the man’s shadow loomed over his form.  The soldier crossed his arms, eyeing Kíli up and down in distaste, pausing to take in the golden cane supporting his weight.  Another man snickered, and Kíli flushed as he visibly angered.

“You dare to laugh at the Pharaoh,” the Vizier voiced, his eyes widening dramatically.

“You expect us to follow orders from someone like him?  His father neglected us for years.  I’ve served weak leaders for long enough,” the bald man claimed, and he smirked as there were several cheers of support from the other soldiers.  The men turned away, going back to their previous conversations, ignoring Kíli’s presence altogether. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.  He hated being stared at, but he absolutely despised being treated with such disrespect.

“Such insolence.  Commander you’ve let this army go to waste. Kill these traitors at once,” the Vizier commanded, but Fíli remained motionless, one hand settled leisurely in the straps hanging about his waist.

“He won’t earn their respect by killing them off, did you learn nothing from his father’s reign?” The blond man asked.  The question seemed to irritate the other man, though almost everything did to be honest.

“Those traitors were dealt with,” The Vizier insisted.

“And you will only create more,” Fíli criticized.  He stepped forward, turning to face Kíli instead. “And then before you know it, you’ll have another dead Pharaoh on your hands.” He said it so casually, like the murder of a ruler was something to expect, just another everyday occurrence.  That same uneasy feeling settled in Kíli’s gut and the Vizier moved to reproach the blond man but before he had a chance to Fíli bent low before the Pharaoh, kneeling just a few inches away.

“They insult you because they do not believe in you. You must gain their respect,” he advised.  The blond eyed the men of the army, still paying them no mind.  Many of them had begun pouring wine, drinking from worn cups as they sat around lazily.  Fíli turned back to study Kíli for a moment, searching his face, taking in the fierce features he’d attained from his father.  

“Perhaps there is another way to prove your worth,” Fíli mentioned, and his brow lowered as he looked directly into the brunet’s eyes. “I have heard you are gifted with the bow,” he commented.  Kíli’s eyes brightened slightly and he raised his chin proudly.

“My father taught me,” he said with a nod, though Fíli appeared to care little about the claim.  If anything he only looked more disappointed.  But it was true.  His father had been busy most of the time, hardly paying Kíli any attention, but he did take the time to teach him how to properly shoot. It had been some time since his last lesson, but Kíli still practised on his own, leaving chips in the pillars around the palace late into the evening, to his servants’ annoyance.

The blond man reached around his back, unlatching the bow and quiver strapped about his form and handing it over.  The brunet propped his cane against one hip, taking care as his fingers wrapped about the loaned weapon.  The bow was larger than Kíli was used to, and less ornate, but it still felt comfortable within his grip. With a final glance towards the still laughing soldiers Kíli nocked an arrow and shot it at one of the targets set up within the grounds.  He lost his balance for only a moment, but the arrow still soared into the centre, exactly where he’d intended it to go.  Kíli straightened, unable to keep the satisfied grin from his face, but it fell away quickly when he noticed the soldiers still blatantly ignoring him.  The bald man was laughing loudly, wine spilling down his face as he drank from an overfilled cup, and Kíli bristled at the sight.

Clearly it was going to take something more dramatic to have an impact on any of these fools.  Kíli couldn’t help but make an annoyed sound, and he gritted his teeth and nocked another arrow, this time lifting the bow to aim towards the men.  The commander stiffened at his side, but before he had a chance to take action Kíli let the arrow go, and it smashed through the cup before the bald man’s face a few seconds later.  Tiny pieces of clay shattered and fell to the ground, wine splashing outward and startling several of the surrounding men. The bald man spluttered as he got soaked, turning surprised eyes towards the Pharaoh.

“My arms are not useless!” Kíli shouted, catching the attention of everyone within the training grounds. “I dare any of you to try and shoot as far and well as I.” The brunet lowered the bow, grasping his cane once again as he stepped a bit closer to the soldiers. “I have been shooting since the day I was born, it is second nature to me. How dare you say I am weak,” Kíli sneered and the bald man visibly startled.

“My apologies, Pharaoh,” the soldier muttered as he wiped his hand on his garments awkwardly.

“My king, you should have him killed as punishment!” The Vizier suggested, and at that the surrounding army hushed, awaiting whatever order was to come.  The bald man swallowed fearfully, suddenly aware that Kíli was indeed the Pharaoh, young or not.  His eyes veered towards the commander briefly before lowering to the ground. 

“What is _your_ command, Pharaoh?” Fíli asked.  The blond stood up, hand already in place on his sword, but he stayed back awaiting his orders.  Kíli looked around at the soldiers, all of them watching him, waiting to see what sort of punishment he might dole out, but as the brunet glanced towards the embarrassed soldier he calmed.

“No, the lesson is learned,” Kíli said. The men relaxed, looking between one another meaningfully.  A few moments later and they had set to work cleaning the space, more interested in training than they had been before.  A hand on his shoulder had him turning to meet the commander’s sturdy form.  The blond’s expression was unreadable, but it was less severe than usual, and Kíli handed back the bow and muttered his thanks.

“Pharaoh, a moment of your time? There are things I wish to discuss with you regarding the future of your armies,” Fíli voiced, and he held his hand up as the Vizier moved to interject. “He will be safe here, or do you not trust even the commander of the royal army?”  Kíli dismissed the Vizier with a wave and the tall man fell back, walking away from the grounds, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as he left.

The commander led him through the grounds slowly, taking care not to walk too fast so that Kíli could easily keep pace.  He explained what certain weaponry was used for, and showed off the chariots that they would ride into battle with.  Kíli was surprised at the state of them, clearly well-worn and many beyond repair.  They were in desperate need of new supplies.  Eventually the two found their way to the stables near the back of the grounds, and Fíli introduced him to the many horses held within, stopping aside a large black one to pat its side.

“I apologize for the state of these troops,” he said, and he gestured to a nearby stool for Kíli to sit in. “They have gone without proper training for far too long.  Ever since the sudden death of their last commander they have lost focus and dwindled in power.”

“He died in battle?” Kíli asked.

“No, he was executed by your father,” Fíli answered, and he paused for a moment to frown at the memory.  Kíli shifted uneasily, wishing he understood why his father had made such violent choices near the end of his reign.  He hadn’t always been such a cruel man.  Kíli remembered him taking him on hunting trips, and playing silly games in the evenings.  But he did become obsessed with his devotion to Aten, eventually forgetting about nearly everything else.  His decisions became rash and his patience for Kíli dwindled.  Near the end, it was as though he hardly existed at all.

“I am not my father,” Kíli whispered.

“That remains to be seen,” Fíli said and he received a frown in return.  The blond moved away from the horse, leaning against the stone wall at Kíli’s side. “You made a level headed decision today.”

“I don’t want to kill.  I don’t like the sight of blood,” Kíli admitted.

“There may come a time when you will have to, though this was not that time,” Fíli spoke lowly.  He looked outside the stable, towards the men fighting one another on the grounds.   Blades clanged as they collided with one another, the occasional grunt of pain sounding amongst them. “You are in a great position of power, be careful with the words you say, and who you say them to,” Fíli warned. “I will not coddle you. You are young, and you are weak. You will need to rely on the support of your advisors and your army.”

Kíli huffed loudly, and looked up at the other man with searing eyes, but Fíli continued on regardless.

“But never forget that you are Pharaoh, and your word is law, no one else’s,” the blond reminded, and then he bent low, so that they were on the same eye level. “Don’t trust anyone,” Fíli cautioned.  The advice surprised Kíli, especially coming from a man he hardly knew.

“Not even you?” Kíli asked. He was still reeling from the implication of his weakness and the words came out sounding slightly bitter.  The blond dropped his gaze, tightening his fingers into fists.

“Especially not me,” Fíli whispered.  Kíli eyed him curiously, wondering how he was supposed to rely on anyone if he couldn’t trust a single person in his counsel.  He took in the man’s strong profile, eyes roaming over the wiry blond beard that was so unusual for their part of the world.  He knew the commander’s advice was valuable, but it only left him feeling even more lost and frightened than before.

* * *

The sound of scratching filled his eardrums as Kíli scribbled out hieroglyphs on a papyrus sheet.  He was studying the surrounding areas, learning about the Kingdoms they allied with and those that held the threat of war.  He dipped his reed into the nearby ink palette, pausing to look at the older man seated across from him.  Balin was focused on his own work, copying out various sheets that were beginning to wear from use. 

Kíli sighed and sat up; growing tired of learning about wars he had no part in.  The last thing he wanted to think about was the possibility of battles when he knew how very well equipped they were for such things.  His thoughts wandered, to the conversations of the people heard around him, and the names that were sometimes spoken mistakenly.

“Balin, who is Ra? Why don’t we worship him any longer?” Kíli asked, suddenly curious why this particular god was forbidden to speak of.  His teacher glanced up at him before setting down his own reed.

“The old gods were forgotten during your father’s reign,” Balin mentioned. 

“But why?” Kíli wondered.  It didn’t make sense to forget a god, especially not one so many people still apparently revered.

“It is hard to say for certain. Your father…was a good man, once, but he struggled with illness and greed.  He made many strange changes, acted rashly on more than one occasion,” Balin admitted woefully.  He shook his head in despair as his thoughts wandered to the past. “He became obsessed with Aten, to the point that he thought nothing else was of importance.”

Kíli remembered those few weeks so very well.  The servants whispered of a curse, speculating over what illness had taken control of the Pharaoh.  In his final days he spouted nonsense, of the belief that he was in fact a god himself.  Still, Kíli was unaware of many of the finer details.  He wasn’t sure what was true and what was little more than gossip.  They had sheltered him from much of it.

“The Pharaoh’s word is law, so it became punishable by death to worship Amun, and soon it may be the same to mention any of the old gods’ names, that is, if you choose to walk the same path of course,” Balin explained.  The older man lifted his reed again, and Kíli took that as a sign to return to his studies, but it didn’t take long for more questions to arise in his mind.

“Fíli said my father killed the previous commander of the army, is that true?” Kíli asked, and Balin halted, reed midair, clearly caught slightly off guard.

“Yes it is,” he answered quietly, sitting back in his chair sombrely. He dropped the reed again, finally giving up on his work altogether.

“For what reason?” Kíli pried, and he could see Balin trying to think of a proper way to answer.

“He refused to murder innocents, he refused the Pharaoh’s orders, and he was executed as a result,” Balin voiced carefully.  Kíli continued to stare at him, but when he made no effort to elaborate the brunet pushed further.

“Innocents?” he asked.  The older man pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes, before sighing in resignation. It was one of the reasons Kíli had chosen to ask Balin in the first place.  His teacher believed that there was no such thing as a stupid question, and that honesty was incredibly important.  He wouldn’t lie to him, not if he showed enough interest.

“Children found worshipping in the cult of Amun,” Balin said sadly.  The words shocked Kíli, and he opened his mouth in surprise, looking down at the table as he thought everything over.  He knew his father had done bad things, but, killing children?  That was…horrific.  Though in his final days he hardly even acknowledged Kíli, didn’t even recognize him on most days, far more concerned with his sun god than paying attention to his only son.  So was it that unrealistic that he would have commanded the deaths of others, regardless of their age?

“Did no one try to stop him?” Kíli whispered in astonishment.

“We did,” Balin assured him. “The Vizier gave him advice alongside me in an attempt to direct him away from such a drastic course of action, but he could not be swayed.  Any who tried to stop him with force were killed as well.”

Kíli nibbled on his lower lip as he turned to look outside.  It was no wonder the people hated him.  They probably thought he would be exactly the same.  He couldn’t really blame them for their fears.  The brunet looked back towards his studies, no longer interested in continuing at all. 

“Will you teach me of them?  The old gods, I want to know,” Kíli requested, and Balin brightened immediately.  The teacher hurried from his seat to hunt through his stacks of old scrolls, searching for documents that had long gone unused.  He spread them out atop the table eagerly, pointing to a series of images as he beckoned Kíli closer.

“You must first understand, that everything exists as part of a great balance, ma’at,” Balin began, his finger dragging lower across the first scroll. “First there was Amun, the great creator.  When he merged with Ra, he became seen, and unseen, light, and dark,” Balin explained.  “It is Amun-ra who protects the pharaoh, and it is Amun-ra who speaks to the oracles and priests.”

“But there are no priests now,” Kíli blurted, his face scrunched up slightly as he took in the new information.

“No, they too were destroyed under your father’s ruling,” Balin spoke sorrowfully.  Kíli clenched his jaw in frustration.  The more he learned, the more it seemed like his father had done nothing good at all.

“I don’t want to be like him,” Kíli whispered, his fingers tightening against the table as he took in the stylized art spread out before him.  He didn’t understand why anyone would want to destroy such beauty, why anyone would want to erase the history of their forefathers in such a way.

“You have a kind heart Kíli.  I believe you will be a great Pharaoh, remembered for ages to come,” Balin spoke, a tiny smile forming upon his face.  Kíli grinned up at him, before turning towards the many scrolls with curious eyes.  He wanted to learn everything there was to learn.  And maybe then he might be able to make a difference.  Maybe then…his people wouldn’t hate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Amun** – The Hidden One, god of sun and air.  
>  **Amun-Ra** – King of gods, Amun and Ra merged as one.  
>  **Aten** – The disk of the sun, all creation was thought to emanate from the god and to exist within the god. Worship of this god excluded all others for a time.  
>  **Khopesh** – An Egyptian sickle sword  
>  **Ma’at** – Ancient Egyptian concepts of truth, balance, order, law, harmony, morality, and justice  
>  **Ra** – The sun god


	3. Chapter 2: Tefnut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to see the entire Pharaoh sketch it's on my tumblr [here!](https://shinigami714.tumblr.com/post/163504615186/heres-the-full-sketch-of-pharaohkili-from-your)

* * *

Kíli hobbled over the edge of the small papyrus boat while his servant held the side as stable as he could manage.  Ori had argued with him incessantly for nearly the entire trip down the Nile, hissing about everything from crocodiles to pirates, but their little adventure had gone well despite his concerns. There had been some initial difficulties in getting away from the palace unnoticed, but Kíli was confident the rest of his journey would be easy, and he was looking forward to seeing the people of Akhetaten up close for the first time since becoming Pharaoh.  He cringed slightly at the memory of the men and women slaughtered on the temple stairs.  His stomach lurched, and he swallowed nervously before tugging on the fabric hanging around his cheekbones.  He was wearing the plainest garment he could find, one that covered as much of his skin and face as possible.    

“This is stupid.  Only an idiot wouldn’t recognize you,” Ori commented, watching as Kíli fumbled his cane briefly before finding his footing on solid land. The Pharaoh smirked and shook his head slightly.  He was glad to have at least one servant that didn’t mince their words in his presence.  Ori was the closest thing he had to a friend; they’d known each other since before Kíli could even walk.   

“That’s why I’m wearing a disguise, obviously,” Kíli muttered, gesturing to the simple cotton garment draped over his shoulders.  He had forgone his ceremonial diadem, choosing only to wear a few jewels upon his fingers and wrists which he kept hidden beneath long sleeves.  His servant eyed him in disbelief, looking at him from head to toe.

“And I suppose every peasant has a cane made from solid gold,” Ori muttered.  He finished tying the boat before placing his hands against his hips. Kíli glanced down at the cane clasped between his fingers and pursed his lips.  Ori was right, it was a dead giveaway.  No one his age walked with a cane, and especially not one so ornate.  Kíli furrowed his brow before tossing it into the river, leaning to pick up a broken reed in its place.  He would still look strange using it as support, but at least it didn’t stand out quite as much.

“W-what are you doing? You’re just going to throw it away?!” Ori sputtered in surprise.

“I have plenty of them,” Kíli said, and he started moving towards the city centre.  He didn’t want to be gone so long the entire army got sent out to find him.  Ori constantly checked on the Pharaoh, while Kíli watched the people working around them.  The farmers looked exhausted even beneath the early morning sun.  They struggled with the tough soil, forced to make do with minimal space ever since the Nile stopped flooding their lands.  As they approached the cluster of clay and stone buildings that marked the city outskirts Ori became visibly anxious, while Kíli struggled to hide own apprehension.

“The Vizier will have me killed if he finds out about this, going out without a guard.  It’s irresponsible! And dangerous!” Ori whispered, leaning in close as they began moving between the thickening crowds of people. 

“And that’s why you aren’t going to tell a soul,” Kíli hissed.  He was tired of being followed around by the Vizier’s men, like he was a helpless baby in constant need of supervision.  He needed to explore, get out into the real world and see things for himself.  It was the only way to learn.  He stumbled as a little girl ran past him, bare feet slapping against the ground and leaving an airy dust trail in her wake.  She was thin as a rail, clearly underfed, and Kíli watched her head off towards the Nile with a container for water. “I need to see firsthand.  I cannot understand my people without walking in their paths,” Kíli muttered lowly.  His gaze wandered back to the streets around them, and he moved between the crowds with a renewed sense of purpose.  Signs of struggle were visible at every corner.  The simple mud brick buildings were dry and crumbling, the clothing torn and stained from days working in the fields without a chance to repair.  Even in his borrowed linens Kíli felt terribly overdressed and out of place.

There was crying and screaming from babies searching for more to eat, and mothers hushing them desperately as they too worked hard to find abandoned scraps in the streets.  Men without homes lay in makeshift beds propped up against walls, some missing limbs or sporting visible wounds; a clear sign of the effects of war. There was no hint of the thriving markets that Kíli had read of from his predecessor’s reigns, no traders from distant lands walking the streets to show off their goods.  What depictions of the gods Kíli did see were half destroyed or vandalized, and the brunet paused to look at a small statue missing its head and whatever items it once held within its hands.  Several people crouched around it, still praying hastily for some kind of help, and Kíli paused as a man huddled low and offered up a handmade trinket at the idol’s feet.   

“What use it that, the gods stopped listening long ago,” an elderly woman scolded him.  The man’s shoulders visibly slumped, though he did not move from his place, clearly lacking any other option.  A series of hushed whispers pulled Kíli’s attention elsewhere, and he spotted a group of armed men making their way through the dirt roads not far away.  The brunet gasped, recognizing a few of the Vizier’s personal guard members, and he turned around, tugging his garments up self-consciously.  Ori’s grip tightened around his arm, and the servant pulled him away, into a hidden alcove as the men approached.  Kíli’s thoughts scrambled as he wondered if they had already discovered he was missing and he was startled when several townsfolk did the same, squeezing into the space around him to avoid attracting the attention of the guards.  As the men approached the headless statue, the remaining people scattered into the shadows, and Kíli flinched as the single offering was taken away, the statue thrown to the ground.  What remained of it was quickly crushed into tiny pieces, until there was no resemblance left to a god whatsoever.

He watched idly, standing behind a wall for some time, even long after the villagers had gone back to their daily routines.  He couldn’t explain the sorrow he felt in his heart as his gaze settled on the remains of the sculpture.  It felt as though a part of his world was dying, like a part of himself was right along with it.  He had never known the old gods growing up, but they were still a part of him, and he a part of them.

Kíli bit his lip, meeting Ori’s eyes briefly before turning the other way, determined to find some sign of happiness among his people.  Every pathway featured more of the same.  More suffering, more starvation, more people in need of aid, and he was surprised when he finally came upon a row of tiny stands with goods for sale.  They must have been the only ones still managing to survive, and even they lacked customers as people walked by them without so much as stopping to look.  A boy was trying to convince one of the sellers to take a small pile of rocks as payment to no avail, so Kíli stopped to pay in his stead, keeping his face hidden as he did so.  

He moved on, looking down at a variety of beads and sticks woven together from what little supplies were available.  The care in the items was still visible despite the primitive materials, the artist behind them clearly passionate about their work.  It was a shame it went so unnoticed.  Another booth featured small sculptures made from stone.  There were a variety of different animals, and even dolls and toys for children to play with.  He did a double take when he spotted a low relief featuring several figures and reached out to touch the stone tablet lightly.  The action revealed his fingers and wrist, his jewels suddenly visible to the merchant who jolted upright and met his gaze.

“P-Pharaoh?” the man muttered in disbelief, and a second later the peasant fell back, suddenly afraid as his eyes scoured the surrounding area for guards.  He hurried to cover up his goods, hiding more of his art from view with shaking hands.

“I’m not…I’m not going to hurt you!” Kíli shouted in a low tone, and he reached out to touch the man’s wrist, but it was quickly yanked away from his grip.  Kíli blinked at the startled man and the two of them stared awkwardly at one another for a moment. “You don’t need to fear me.  I…wish to learn,” Kíli voiced, his eyebrows scrunching together as he lowered his gaze back to the man’s wares. He lifted the cloth piece that had been thrown across them haphazardly and gestured towards the tablet that held his interest. “Who are these gods?” The peasant still looked wary, his back pressed against the clay wall behind him as he breathed in and out quickly, but after a few seconds his posture eased slightly.

“It…it is Horus, framed by his parents, Isis and Osiris,” the man murmured softly.  Kíli tilted his head, taking in the details of the falcon headed god in the centre. He wondered how many art pieces like it had been destroyed.

“It’s beautiful,” Kíli said before he reached into his pouches hurriedly. “Might I trade for it? I have gold pieces, bread,” he offered, and the man eyed him like he was insane.

“W-whatever you feel it’s worth my K-King,” the peasant stuttered. Kíli smiled and offered him a handful of gold, and the man’s eyes widened as it fell into his palm.  He sat frozen for a few moments before hurrying to wrap up the tablet inside a piece of cotton, tying it off with a cord, and Kíli thanked him before checking over his coverings.  Once ready he turned, parcel in hand, and with Ori at his side he began the trek back to the palace.  He’d seen enough.  Even in the short time he’d visited it was clear that the whispers were true.  His people were suffering.  They feared for their lives and the lives of their families. They feared _him_.

Kíli held the tablet close to his body, walking quicker than was comfortable for his malformed foot and leg.  He wanted to be remembered in history as a powerful Pharaoh. A Pharaoh that did great things for the prosperity of his kingdom, one the people loved and praised and talked about for years to come. But Kíli did not want that power to stem from fear.

* * *

Walking through marshland was twice as difficult as walking on land.  The thick waters dragged against his legs as he trudged through the reeds, bow held just above the water line.  He couldn’t use his cane, would only risk losing another in the murky depths, and instead he relied on Fíli’s tight grasp in the back of his linens to keep him upright.  The decorative bracelets around his wrists rattled as they clacked together, and he winced as the sound met his ears.  The ornaments would have been impressive had he been marching into battle, but hunting was another matter altogether, and he did not want to catch the attention of any animals lurking nearby. 

Several of the other soldiers that were helping teach him how to hunt walked up at his side, peering into the water for crocodiles hiding in the reeds, though so far, there had been no sign of movement.   The bald man, whose name he learned was Dwalin, had taken special interest in him, seemingly impressed by the precision with which he shot.  The large soldier nodded at him briefly, eyes already returning to scour the land around them. 

In the distance, the sun began to set, and Kíli was grateful for the cooler air left behind as a result.  The days had been hot and incredibly dry.  If he hadn’t been wading through the waters he would have been too exhausted to move.  Even in the marshes signs of life were hard to find.  Animals had abandoned the dry desert lands to move elsewhere, where the Nile spread wider and still flooded the land.  In this part of the desert they hadn’t seen such a thing for years.  A terrible drought was upon them, and now Kíli knew exactly the effect it was having on his people.

The soldiers stepped carefully forward, easing in front of Kíli as he took a moment to catch his breath.  His body ached now that he had a moment to relax.  He knew the next day would be a difficult one.  He hoped his foot wasn’t too swollen in the morning.  Kíli sighed, and the commander stepped up beside him, moving in front of the sunset and casting the brunet in shade.  The remaining rays of light framed the blond’s form, shining off of the man’s hair so that it appeared like a golden disc circled around his head.  He looked almost ethereal, and Kíli gazed up at him in astonishment, taking in the man’s profile and strong jaw.

“Your hair is kissed by Ra himself,” Kíli voiced.  He flushed when the commander looked towards him oddly, his eyebrow raised and mouth parted slightly in surprise.  The other soldiers all turned to face him as well, whispering amongst themselves, but with a single glance from Fíli they dispersed into the wilderness to leave the two in peace.

“Where did you hear that?” Fíli asked, his gaze lingering on the men still walking away from them.

“Balin told me…about Ra, and about the old gods, all of them,” Kíli mentioned, and the other man’s blue irises lowered.  The two looked at one another, surrounded by the sound of cicadas and water rippling calmly.

“You know that is dangerous talk in days like these,” Fíli spoke lowly, his expression betraying little of his inner thoughts.  But Kíli felt a chill run down his spine at the words, and he stiffened, staring up at him in horror. “What did I tell you?” Fíli asked.

“Not to trust anyone…even you, but…,” Kíli trailed off, and the other man sighed and shook his head.

“A smart Pharaoh is wary of all those around him, especially his closest friends and advisors. It is the betrayal of those nearest that hurts the most, and catches one most off guard,” The commander lectured, and Kíli swallowed and looked down at the water swirling around his hips.

“You won’t tell anyone will you? About Balin teaching me?  I asked, it’s my fault,” Kíli pressed.  His fingers tightened around the handle of his bow as he waited for a response but none came.  Kíli forced himself to meet the other man’s gaze again, surprised to see a hint of a smile upon his face.  The slight change to his expression made all of the difference in the world.  He looked like a different man altogether, like someone who hadn’t fought in hundreds of battles and seen countless men fall to their deaths before him.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Fíli spoke softly, and he touched Kíli’s shoulder and pointed just behind him.

“Look,” Fíli whispered.  Kíli turned his head quickly, gaping when he caught sight of a gazelle grazing in the waters nearby.  Fíli sunk lower into the marsh beside him, and Kíli’s heart began to thump faster in his chest as he raised his bow, lining up his arrow.  He stared down his target, watching for a few seconds as several other gazelles sidled up next to it, pressing close.  _The fawns_.  Kíli faltered, his arms slackening as he exhaled softly.  The young would be lost in the wild without their mother.  The brunet lowered the bow, waiting as the family finished foraging and skittered away.

“Why did you choose not to shoot?” Fíli asked, his hand settled at the base of Kíli’s back.

“Ma’at,” the brunet spoke calmly.  The blond made a low sound in his throat, a hum of approval before standing once more.

“Ma’at,” Fíli echoed with a nod.  His hand rose, touching the back of Kíli’s head fondly, and the Pharaoh felt a sense of calm overtake him.  The pain in his body had lessened, and his heart felt a bit lighter.   

“Do you plan to return things to the ways of old, my Pharaoh?” Fíli questioned, his voice low, betraying a hint of curiosity.  The brunet stared straight ahead, watching the as the last rays of light began to fade into night. 

“Can I really do something like that?” Kíli breathed.

“You are Pharaoh.  The laws are yours to create, and to destroy. If you will it, it shall be done,” Fíli explained, and Kíli considered the other man’s words for a long time.  Did he truly have so much power?  With but a word he could decide which gods should be worshipped, and which should not?  It seemed ridiculous for one person to have so much control over the people.  Was that what his father had done?  The very reason for the misfortune of the people. The thought frightened Kíli.  He didn’t want to be consumed by his right to rule.  It would only lead to greed and disruption in his heart.  And yet…there was so much he could do, if only given the chance.

“Do you think I should?” Kíli asked.

“I think you should make your own choices, but it’s important to consider the happiness of your people,” Fíli advised, and Kíli appreciated his honesty.  He couldn’t ask someone else to make these choices for him.   

In the distance Kíli could see the other soldiers pushing each other around almost playfully.  Dwalin tossed a fish into the air and it bounced off of a redheaded warrior’s face, falling back into the water with a splash.  A second later and laughter broke out amongst the men sending several birds flying into the sky.  It would be nice if they could always have lives so relaxed and easy, if food was easier to come by, the grains and crops more plentiful.  He was lucky to have everything he needed within the palace, but others did not have those luxuries.  He thought of the starving faces of the townsfolk and their fear of worshipping gods who had once brought them prosperity and longevity, gods who no longer answered their prayers.

“They are not happy with the way things are, they are not happy here, in Akhetaten,” Kíli muttered, his eyelids dropping as he frowned.  The air had cooled considerably, and he breathed in deeply as a light gust of wind fluttered across his face.

“No,” Fíli agreed, reaching once more to grab the back of his garment, urging him to continue moving.

“So something must be done,” Kíli muttered, and he took another step into the murky waters ahead.

* * *

It was hard to stay focused as he sat on the throne, listening to the requests of his people and their prayers for Aten.  Every day people lined up to see him, in the hopes that someone might hear of their suffering.  But Kíli could see the helplessness in their eyes.  They had given up.  They didn’t believe they would be heard, not by some god that had replaced the ones they knew and loved, and not through a Pharaoh so young and powerless.  Sometimes they lined up merely to shout in protest, cursing endless profanities at him as they were escorted away and dealt with out of Kíli’s sight.

A part of him died each passing day, and he wished more than anything he knew how to fix the problems his kingdom faced.  He wanted to do something, anything but sit helplessly in the same place each day while the suffering continued.   The Vizier held fast to the rules his father had set in place, and was persistent in urging Kíli to support them, even pushing him to be stricter in the erasure of their history. He was dedicated to his work as the Pharaoh’s advisor, and far more experienced in politics and the workings of an economy than the brunet.  But even Kíli could see they needed change, and they needed it soon.  It was a matter of figuring out how to voice it, and where to start.   He wished he’d had more time to learn how to be a Pharaoh before becoming one.

His gaze searched the crowd, finally landing on the army commander’s golden head of hair.  He wondered what Fíli thought of him, watching him do nothing of use for days on end. The brunet clenched his teeth together tightly as yet another farmer knelt before him, pleading for whatever aid his Pharaoh could provide.  He’d lost the remaining crops in his farmland and in turn his livelihood.  He could no longer feed his family, and his youngest daughter had taken ill.  Unable to afford medicine his last resort was to ask the gods.  The man faltered mid speech, realizing he’d misspoken, and he quickly directed his words towards Aten, his eyes fearful as he looked towards the guards and back to Kíli.  It wasn’t the first time that had happened either.

Kíli sighed, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight beaming down upon him, and he was struggling to come up with something to say in response when several guards pushed their way through the line of people, dragging prisoners across the floor.  The people whispered restlessly amongst themselves, watching in horror as the captives struggled against the guards’ sturdy hold.  Kíli sat up straight as they approached, and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the bloodied knees and panicked expressions of the men and women the guards had detained.

“My King, we found another Cult of Amun in the southern sector,” one of the guards spoke, throwing a boy down on the limestone floor at the base of the stairs.  The brunet stared down at him anxiously, eyeing the bony fingers and thin face that spoke of days without food. 

He was no older than Kíli. 

The guards flung down the rest of the prisoners, lining them up before the throne and occasionally kicking them back into place when their legs slipped on the stone floor.  Kíli’s fingers clenched in the armrests at his sides, and he felt his throat tighten when the Vizier stepped forwards, making his way down the steps slowly.  

“It is law, a crime against Aten.  They must be executed,” he voiced easily, not even taking a second to look their way, and Kíli’s breath caught in his throat as the guards moved to lift their spears.  He was overcome with visions of hundreds of men women and children suffering a similar fate, could picture his father shouting the order to kill.  He saw the faces of dead children, their bodies lining the streets of his kingdom.  His heart felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds, that it might be consumed by the demon Ammit at any minute, and he would be condemned to suffer a second death in the afterlife.  It wasn’t right.  Not at all.

“Stop!” Kíli shouted as he rose to his feet and took a single step forward.  The guards froze, spears lifted in the air and the Vizier turned to look at him in surprise, along with every other set of eyes within the discernable distance.  It was so silent Kíli could hear nothing but the rustling of the wind, and his own beating heart.  An entire kingdom waiting for his command.  He swallowed nervously and glanced towards the commander for a moment, meeting eyes that looked carved from lapis lazuli under the brilliant light of the sun.  His nerves settled and Kíli took a deep breath before speaking.

“No, no one shall die for the gods they choose to worship, from this day forth,” Kíli commanded.  He lifted his chin, his eyebrows lowering as he held out his hand to halt the Vizier’s attempt to interrupt.  “I will not be responsible for such needless death,” Kíli added, and he looked around at all who served him, daring any to argue with his decision.  No one spoke a word.  This was the power of the Pharaoh.

Slowly the guards lowered their weapons, as if unsure they had heard him correctly. They fell back and released the peasants sprawled out before them, all of whom stared up at the Pharaoh in disbelief.  Kíli moved forward, his cane clacking against the stone as he stepped carefully down each stair and bent low to reach out his hand.  The boy on the ground gawked at it for a moment before grasping it hesitantly, and Kíli helped him to stand, before moving to do the same with each and every person still spread out on the ground.  The last man paused, holding out his arm in thanks, and before Kíli could stop him he was back on his knees, thanking Kíli for sparing his life. All it took was a single shout, and several more followed, the people crying out in support.  Kíli staggered when the crowd knelt together, raising their arms as they bowed and chanted for their king.  They were cheering…for _him_.

His eyes skittered about the mass of people, awed that he could have such a monumental effect on them for such a seemingly simple act. When a droplet of water landed on his face, Kíli startled at the sudden wetness upon his skin, and he looked up to the skies and gaped in surprise. Several more fell in quick succession, coating his head and arms until his clothing was drenched through.  The sun was still shining, visible through the stray clouds that lingered above, but it didn’t deter the water from falling across the stone expanse.

Kíli blinked the wetness from his eyes, and as it started to pour the people cheered louder, rejoicing in the moisture that would help their crops to grow when the Nile had not.  The Vizier looked mystified, staring at the moisture on his hands as though it contained some hidden magic, while Balin laughed heartily and raised his arms to the skies.   

“What…what is this?” Kíli gasped as he lifted his fingers and spread them out in the air.  The water bounced off his fingers like little kisses upon his skin.

“It’s rain, my Pharaoh.  It is a sign, a sign from the gods.  Tefnut approves,” Balin raved, looking far younger than his many years would argue.

_Rain._

He’d never seen such a thing before, had heard of it only in passing.  Kíli let out a breath of air, tilting his face upwards to face the sky.  Each droplet felt like bliss.  It was as though years of dirt were being washed away from his body; a purification of his soul. Through the raindrops clinging to his lashes he could see Fíli standing at attention, one hand pressed against his chest as he looked towards Kíli in awe.  The blond nodded slowly, before kneeling himself, joining the mass of people as they chanted his name. 

For the first time Kíli felt it.  The power to change, to do good.  He sensed the gods speaking to him in ways he did not know were possible.  Ra, in the sun’s rays, shining upon his skin.  Tefnut, in the raindrops, falling upon his face.  Shu, on the wind, blowing through his hair. And Amun, flowing in his very blood, confirming the path he’d chosen was true.  It was…a start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tefnut** – goddess of moisture, dew, and rain, often depicted with the head of a lioness  
>  **Horus** – Sky god, a guardian and protector of the people  
>  **Isis** – Mother of Horus, patroness of nature and magic  
>  **Osiris** \- god of the afterlife, death, life, and resurrection  
>  **Ammit** – The ‘devourer’ or ‘soul-eater’, consumes impure hearts, preventing passage to an immortal life  
>  **Shu** – god of light and air, provides a cooling and calming presence


	4. Chapter 3: Montu

* * *

Kíli breathed in and out quickly; sweat dripping down the side of his face as he eyed the man across from him heatedly.  Nori was quick and unpredictable with the way he moved, one of the most experienced fighters in the army.  He fought low to the ground, and he fought dirty.  He was the best person to train Kíli in hand to hand combat.  Fíli watched from close by, lecturing the Pharaoh when he failed to react in time or made a careless mistake, and lecturing Nori when he got a bit too reckless with his daggers.  Every now and then the other soldiers would shout something as the two grappled or crossed blades.  Bofur in particular was rather vocal.  The cheerful man was always the first to praise him, and the first to laugh when he screwed up.    

The dagger in his hand slid within his sweaty grip, and Kíli tightened his fingers around the hilt, keeping his eyes on the redheaded man circling around him.  He knew Nori was treating him more carefully than he would another soldier, but it was still difficult for Kíli to keep up.  He found it hard to move quickly with his cane, and he was limited to acting only in defense.  The redhead jerked slightly and Kíli flinched, his cheeks flushing when he realised the other man was trying to trick him.  Nori snorted, twirling his blades around in his fingers carelessly.  It made the brunet frown in irritation, and he had to take a deep breath to keep from getting angered.  He was caught by surprise when the soldier suddenly lunged, swiping swiftly with one of his daggers and Kíli urged his body to dive out of the way so he could avoid the attack.

And avoid it he did.  The blade swung past him with just a few inches to spare.  But the sudden movement threw Kíli off, and he tottered awkwardly on his bad foot for a moment before falling to the ground with a grunt.  It hurt more than he cared to admit, and when Nori hurried to help him up Kíli swung out with his cane angrily, tripping the other man in return. The redhead yelped in surprise and landed hard, groaning on the ground beside him.  It didn’t take long for Kíli to realise what he’d done, and he scrambled to his hands and knees and stared at the fallen man with wide eyes.

“Sorry!” Kíli cried, feeling bad for using such a cheap trick, but Nori chuckled lowly, and rolled onto his back to reveal a sly grin, while Fíli laughed heartily nearby.

“You’re learning.  There are no rules in battle,” Fíli said, and he yanked Kíli upright, casting his gaze over the Pharaoh’s form.  The brunet sported a few bruises and minor cuts, but nothing serious, and Fíli patted him on the shoulder gently before moving away. “That’s enough for now, take a break.”

The blond unsheathed his weapons, walking towards Nori with a hint of a smirk, and a few seconds later the two men were caught up in their own dance of blades.  Fíli moved like liquid light, twisting and turning to avoid each of Nori’s attacks, almost as though he knew where they were coming before they even started.  His hair flipped around his neck and shoulders like a mane, and his eyes gleamed as they focused on every movement around him.  Nori was a formidable foe, but he could do nothing to counter the commander’s ruthless attacks. 

Kíli took a seat atop some wooden boxes to watch the fight, and he flinched when Nori went flying to the ground after taking an elbow to his jaw.  The man coughed a few times but got back up, grin still in place, and the two were back to sparring not long after.  He only pulled his gaze away when Bofur sidled up next to him and left out a hefty sigh.

“That dagger suits you well,” he commented, eyeing the borrowed weapon Kíli still held in between his fingers, and the brunet hurried to sheath it before handing it back. “Keep it.  I’m sure it’s not as beautiful as some, but that metal is from the stars.  It’ll protect you,” Bofur claimed.  Kíli stared at him for some time before finally muttering his thanks and strapping the sheath to his leg.  He hadn’t thought he’d make so many bonds with the people in his command, but the men who trained him treated him like one of their own.  It was refreshing.

The sound of laughter brought Kíli’s attention back to the men fighting not far away, and he couldn’t help but smile when he spotted Nori spitting out a face full of mud at Fíli’s feet.  The redhead looked suitably annoyed, but when Fíli taunted him he groaned and stood, determined to give it another go.  The fight continued, the commander twisting around Nori’s blades once more.

“I’ve never seen someone move like that before,” Kíli whispered.

“He’s a fearsome warrior, I wouldn’t want to face him on the battlefield,” Bofur admitted, and he leaned over to nudge Kíli gently in the side. “Easy on the eyes too,” he added. Kíli flushed at the comment, but nodded slowly, lowering his gaze briefly before returning it to Fíli’s solid form.  The muscles in his back shifted as he swung his blades, and he was coated in a light sheen of sweat that caught the light with every movement.  There was no disputing the fact that Fíli was an attractive man.  Kíli shifted uncomfortably in his seat and clasped his fingers nervously together.  He could sense Bofur studying him, and it only made the flush spread further.  The other man eased down onto the box beside him, and placed a hand on the brunet’s back.  When Kíli met his eyes they lacked any judgement, but the concern on his face was plain to see.

“Be careful, my Pharaoh. The heart can lead us into dangerous places,” he warned, and Kíli slumped slightly in response.  If his heart guided him, how was he meant to fight its pull?

* * *

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as the scenery flew by, and Kíli steadied his bow as he saw one of the targets they’d set up getting closer in the distance.  The chariot felt a bit unsteady beneath his weak foot, but Fíli’s steady presence at his back and firm hand across his torso comforted him.  The commander held him upright, grasping him tightly whenever they hit a particularly jarring bit of land.  Kíli focused his eyes, ignoring the stray hairs fluttering over his nose and face, and he steadied his bow before letting his arrow soar.  He could barely hear the thwack against the target over the loud thumping of hooves, but he saw the moment the arrow hit its mark and laughed happily when the commander tugged him closer.

“Good!” Fíli shouted in his ear, and Kíli gleamed in delight at the praise.  He’d hit all ten targets, only missing the very middle on one.  It was a worthy showing for a Pharaoh.  If only he didn’t require the help of another to do so.   

“Someday I’d like to ride one by myself,” Kíli voiced as the chariot began to slow. The horses ahead cantered lightly back towards the stables and Kíli almost wished he could do another circle.  But his bad leg was aching already from the constant jarring motions, and he knew it was best not to overdo it.  His eyes wandered towards the crowd across the field, where soldiers raced against one another on a simple track.  They moved far faster than Kíli had gone, charging ahead and leaving large trails of dust in their wake.

“I want to race like them,” Kíli whispered as the chariot halted, and Fíli jumped down and held out his hand for the brunet to grasp.  The Pharaoh winced as he stepped down, and when he met the other man’s eyes he frowned.

“Don’t, I know what you’re going to say,” Kíli muttered.  “That I’m too weak, too young,” he said mockingly, his eyes rolling as he grabbed his cane from a waiting servant. “I’m nearly an adult,” he finished with a huff.  The commander reached over the brunet’s shoulders to unlatch his holster, and grabbed the bow from his hands without comment.  Fíli followed Kíli as he made his way to the stable alongside the horses, stopping while the handler eased them into their cubbies. Kíli approached, pressing his nose against each horse in thanks before offering them food and patting them down.  He knew it wasn’t his job, but it was soothing work, and he liked spending time with the animals.

“You are getting taller,” Fíli commented as he watched from just outside the stall. Kíli turned his head slightly, observing as the other man’s blue irises passed slowly over his form, and he wondered what the commander saw when he looked at him.  Was he unimpressed by his slight stature and curved spine?  Bothered as much by the sight of his malformed foot?  Disgusted even that someone like Kíli could become a Pharaoh at all?  It was impossible to tell just by looking.  The commander nearly always kept his emotions hidden away. 

“When you stop growing I will put in a request with Gloin.  See if he can make something more suited to your needs,” Fíli spoke quietly, and Kíli’s eyes widened and he whipped his head completely towards the blond. 

“Really?” he asked, his lips already rising as he showed off his teeth in a hearty smile.

“Don’t get too excited, my Pharaoh, It will be a while yet,” Fíli said cooly.  Kíli smirked and turned back to face the horse.  He patted the side of its neck gently and then ran his fingers through the coarse mane.  He couldn’t stop grinning and when he peered out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Fíli also sported a tiny smile instead of his impassive mask.  The Pharaoh’s heart skipped a little and he took a deep breath before backing away from the horse and grasping his cane. 

“I have a name you know,” Kíli muttered, lifting his chin as he looked up at the blond from beneath dark eyelashes.  “You should call me by it.”

Kíli squeezed past the commander, just barely brushing against his side as he exited the stable.  For once the threat and worry of being Pharaoh was completely absent from his mind.  He was excited to see what sort of chariot he might one day claim as his own.  And though he knew racing was likely a distant and unreachable goal, the idea of riding by himself made him feel a little more worthy of his title.  Kíli ignored the pain he felt in his hip and leg, holding his head high as he made his way back to the palace.  He couldn’t help but straighten his shoulders and stand tall as he sauntered as confidently as one could with a cane, and Fíli’s blue gaze followed him the entire way.

* * *

The map spread out before him did not look promising.  The Naharin armies were attacking at their borders and each day the ground lost was a little bit greater.  Kíli stared at the marks that represented his soldiers, taking in the difference in quantity and their compromising position.  If they did not do something soon he risked losing his kingdom entirely.  They could not afford to give the enemy any more of their land.  Kíli would not have his people put at such risk. 

The most frustrating part of it all was that the people they were fighting had once been their greatest ally.  The Naharin had fought alongside the Pharaohs for years and their kingdoms had sworn to protect one another.  But his father had betrayed them, signing treaties with other kingdoms, abandoning those he once swore to protect.  And now they were at war because of it.  Kíli pursed his lips, once again cursing his father’s inexplicable decisions.  His advisors stood on either side, for once silent and unable to offer any solution, and Kíli frowned and directed his gaze towards the commander across from him. 

“Our only choice is to send in the remaining soldiers and hope it is enough to hold them off.  I can lead an attack tonight under the cover of nightfall. My men are better equipped for fighting in the shadows.  If we catch their armies by surprise, we may have a chance.  We’ll place our troops at these locations and surround them,” Fíli explained, pointing to a few key areas on the map, and Kíli nodded in agreement.

“I will go with you,” the Pharaoh claimed, receiving three identical looks of disbelief.

“No, absolutely not,” Fíli growled as he slammed his hand down atop the table.  Kíli narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms as he glared at the blond man angrily.

“What was the point of teaching me, of training me, if not to fight?” Kíli asked in irritation, and the commander pushed himself away from the table.

“I was not teaching you to attack, I was teaching you to defend.  There is a difference,” the blond scolded.  Kíli bristled at his tone and threw his arms out to his sides.

“I want to fight with my army!” he shouted, staring the soldier down with angry eyes.  It had little effect on the stoic man.

“It is no place for you,” Fíli spoke lowly.  Kíli gritted his teeth when Balin reached over to touch his arm, and he swatted the elder man’s hand away and grabbed his cane, making his way around the table to stare the blond man down.

“I’m not a child anymore!” Kíli insisted as he approached, and the commander’s jaw twitched as he turned to face him head on.

“And in which chariot do you propose to ride into battle?” Fíli asked sarcastically. “Or were you planning to have one of my soldiers hold you up the entire time?”  Kíli flushed in embarrassment at the comment, his grasp tightening on his cane. “My men are not your servants, and I cannot sacrifice their skill in battle for you,” The blond insisted, and Kíli lowered his brow and flared his nostrils.

“All of the people in this kingdom are my servants. I’m your Pharaoh, and you would be wise to treat me with respect,” the brunet spat, but Fíli did not cower at his words.  He leaned in close, forcing Kíli to stagger backwards slightly.

“Do not talk to me of respect,” Fíli seethed.  His face morphed in his anger, his teeth bared like a wild animal.  His eyes were like a hawk’s, sharp and unwavering as they stared Kíli down. “I respect each and every man I fight alongside.  They have fought with me, defended me, shed blood for me.  They would die for me and I them.  Are you prepared to do that?  Are you prepared to die for each person that stands next to you as you march into battle?  Are you prepared to kill another just for wearing the emblem of a kingdom that is not yours? Are you capable of it?” the commander growled in his face, and Kíli did his best to keep from flinching. “You know nothing of war. You will get respect when you’ve earned it,” the blond spat in his face and Kíli was torn between cowering away and lecturing the other man for his insolence.

“Gentlemen, let’s…let’s calm down.  We needn’t fight amongst ourselves.  Pharaoh, perhaps it might be prudent to listen to the commander in this case,” Balin intervened, easing in between the two as he looked towards the Vizier for help.  The gangly man took a moment to gather his wits and nodded quickly.

“The commander and Balin are both right, my Pharaoh.  You must stay here.  We cannot risk losing you to this meaningless battle,” the Vizier agreed for once.  Kíli felt himself deflating, his anger already replaced with an overwhelming feeling of worthlessness and shame.  Kíli looked towards the commander, unable to bring himself to apologize, and Fíli spared him one last glance before leaving the room in silence.

* * *

Just after the sun had set Kíli crept through the palace, sneaking past the guards he spotted lining the walls.  The shadows were his friend as he inched along the corridors, and the piece of cloth wrapped around the end of his cane kept it from clacking against the stone flooring and alerting anyone to his presence.  He fiddled with the straps holding his bow in place, and checked his quiver for arrows for the hundredth time.  He’d lain in bed for long enough, eyes wide open as sleep failed to claim him.  His heart was screaming at him to do something, anything other than simply wait.  It wasn’t in his blood.  He’d come from a long line of Pharaohs that fought for the prosperity of their kingdom.  Even his father, despite his many errors in judgement, had been a fearsome warrior.

Ori’s scruffy head of hair was easy to spot as he snuck into the servants’ quarters, and Kíli snorted lightly when he saw his friend’s legs sprawled across his bedding carelessly.  When he leaned forwards and gently grasped the other man’s arm Ori sat up with a gasp, and Kíli hurried to cover his mouth to stifle the sound.  Wide eyes met with his, and the brunet waited patiently for his friend to calm down before pulling away.

“I need your help,” he whispered.  “Come on let’s go,” Kíli urged, and Ori slid from beneath his coverings groggily and followed, though he looked more than a little confused.  Neither spoke again until they were well on their way to the stable, and finally Ori skipped closer and touched his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” the servant worriedly asked.

“The army marched north towards our borders tonight, I won’t let them go without me,” Kíli explained quickly, moving beneath the cover of the stable’s structure.  Nearly all of the stalls were empty, and chariots had been left in a scattered mess along one of the walls.  He eyed them for a moment, and decided against it.  He knew he couldn’t ride one alone.  Fíli was right about that much.  And he certainly wasn’t going to drag Ori into battle with him.  Kíli moved to the back stalls where a few horses still lingered restlessly and he hurried to start setting up the reigns.  There were ceremonial headdresses and jewels meant to adorn the animal and he did his best to get things organized in his limited time.  He needed Ori’s help for much of it, and his friend scurried around the horse and brought him everything he needed while he fastened chains and straps together. 

“You can’t tell Balin, or the Vizier, or anyone,” Kíli voiced, patting the side of the horse once it was ready.  His friend nodded slowly, unable to hide his concern. “Come on, help me up,” Kíli beckoned.  Ori took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding out his hands to lift him. It was a struggle to get enough leverage with just one leg, but eventually he managed, and his body slid into place as he took up the reigns. 

“Kíli I…I don’t think this is a good idea,” Ori muttered from the horse’s side, his fingers toying with the decorative tassels hanging around Kíli’s feet.  The brunet eyed his servant fondly, offering him a sad smile as he shifted and prepared to leave.

“What kind of Pharaoh would I be if I let my men do all my fighting for me?” Kíli asked, and after a short pause he kicked his legs, guiding the horse into the night.

* * *

The sound of hundreds of hooves stomping alerted Kíli to the location of the army long before he arrived.  He could hear the screams too, of men in anguish, caught in the midst of battle.  The Pharaoh rode swiftly towards the sound, but the first sighting of dead bodies forced Kíli to slow down, pulling hard on the reigns until his horse halted atop the dry ground.  Men lay face down all over the sand, blood seeping from wounds caused by any number of weapons.  Kíli’s throat tightened as he looked over the dead frantically, searching for a head of blond hair, but it was dark, and impossible to tell for certain. 

His breathing quickened as he eyed the masses of men who had already died for this meaningless war, and Kíli hurried to lead his horse towards the thick of the battle.  He readied his bow but could hardly see which men were friends and which were foes.  Kíli’s arms shook as he saw someone fall to the ground nearby, and he shot an arrow, hoping it landed true.  He was surrounded by absolute chaos, men fighting on the ground and falling to their deaths everywhere in sight.   Kíli struggled against the pull of the reigns, leading his horse further through the mass of people. 

For a moment the clouds shifted, revealing the moon, and light cast across the battlefield revealing the bloody massacre in all its glory.  Kíli nearly choked as he took in the ruthless fighting in his midst.  Blood spurted from wounds as limbs were severed and men shouted as they threw one another to the ground.  A spear flew just beyond his horse, sending a person flying into the dirt with it, where he gasped and guzzled, suffocating on his own blood.  The army’s chariots circled the fight and Kíli gasped when he saw one catch in a ditch, the man inside tumbling to the ground with a pained scream.

The Pharaoh forced himself to raise his bow again, firing off arrows where he could.  He hit his marks despite his shaky grip, doing his best to help any soldiers in need. He caught the attention of several members of his army, and they pointed at him in surprise and whispered his name.  The men cheered loudly when they saw him charging through their ranks, but he felt no pride.  Each arrow that hit its mark felt like an added weight upon his heart.  The brunet rode through the battlefield, desperate to find some solution to end the fighting, but it was impossible.  It was just a mess of warriors fighting to kill.  No man would listen to words when they were controlled by so much rage. 

His eyes shifted, catching suddenly on familiar golden locks, and Kíli urged his horse in that direction, only to find Fíli at the mercy of an opposing soldier.  The commander was struggling to hold him off, a blade just a few inches from his neck.  His arm muscles flexed fiercely as he grimaced and struggled to hold off the attack, and Kíli shot without thinking, sending an arrow right through the opposing soldier’s head.  He collapsed atop the blond almost immediately, and Fíli looked thrown off by the sudden lack of force. Kíli had only a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, before Fíli’s gaze met with his and widened.

“What are you doing here? Do you want to get killed?!” The commander shouted, and he stood quickly and lifted his weapons, moving to approach him.  Before he could get more than a foot more men were upon him, and he fought them off furiously, his body showing obvious signs of fatigue.  Kíli did his best to help hold of the attackers, but he could only shoot so fast, and it wasn’t long before his many arrows dwindled to none.  He panicked when he reached back to find little more than empty space, and grasped the reigns tightly to urge his horse to move.  He was like a sitting duck, easy to spot sitting high above the ground troops, with little more than a dagger to use as a weapon.  It would be no good to him now.

He caught sight of Fíli’s emotion filled gaze once more, and then a spear drove into the front of his horse, sending it tumbling to the ground.  Kíli cried out as he landed hard atop the hoof hardened dirt, his horse falling over his legs and pinning him in place. It whinnied and jerked atop him, crushing him beneath its weight.  He’d never felt such pain or such fear as he did in that moment.  His heart pounded against his chest, and he felt his eyes watering as he struggled against the hold atop his body.  He couldn’t move.  All he could see were feet rushing by his head as soldiers swung their weapons.  Kíli clenched his fingers in the horse’s mane as he grimaced and let out a desperate sound.

“Kíli!” someone shouted over the din of clashing blades, and the brunet jolted at the sound of his name, twisting his neck best he could.  He saw little more than the legs of soldiers rushing by.  There was no sign of Fíli, and he panicked as a set of feet bolted towards him, coming to a halt at his side.  Kíli half expected to look up into the eyes of the man that would kill him, but instead he saw a familiar face, one that oddly lacked its usual smile.  Bofur hurried to lift the horse’s struggling body, and Kíli pushed himself along the ground until he was free.  He felt the drag against his skin as the grit dragged across his skin.  He scrambled to his knees, his head spinning as he gritted his teeth and forced his bruised bones to move. 

When Kíli looked up he was finally faced with the brutal nature of war.  Men fell all round him, shot and stabbed, some dead immediately while others were left to suffer a slow and painful demise.  Blood covered the ground, splattered over faces and arms and abandoned weapons. He was shaken and frightened, and for a moment could do little more than try to control his erratic breathing.  Bofur knelt in front of him, looking into his eyes for some sign of recognition, but they were unfocused and Kíli was unresponsive.  He never should have come.   

The splatter of blood across his face brought him back in a heartbeat.  He shuddered as his mind caught up with what had happened, and Kíli’s gaze followed the movement of Bofur’s body as it fell to the ground with a thump.  The Pharaoh’s jaw dropped as he honed in on the arrow that had struck the soldier.  It protruded from his neck, and the pooling blood cut off the other man’s air supply entirely.  He was making strange noises as his fingers dragged across his throat, shakily touching the arrow as his eyes stared blankly at the sky. 

Kíli let out a choked gasp and fell forwards, pressing his hands against the entry wound, but he could do nothing to help clear Bofur’s airway. He watched the light fade from behind the other man’s eyes, blood coating his hands as it pooled up around the arrow’s shaft.  Bofur coughed up even more, staining his lips red, and the soldier’s body twitched atop the ground one last time before going unnaturally still.

“Bofur?” Kíli whispered.  He bent closer so his lips were right next to the other man’s ear. “B-Bofur, please,” he stuttered this time, his shoulders shaking as he started to tremble.  He hardly even noticed when the commander reached his side, tugging on his arm roughly.

“Kíli, we have to go,” Fíli voiced, but the Pharaoh stayed put, his fingers tightening in the folds of Bofur’s garment.

“Kíli!” the blond shouted at him, fully drawing his attention.  The brunet whipped his head to the side, showing off his widened eyes. “He’s dead! We need to fall back.  This battle won’t be won tonight,” Fíli insisted.  He grabbed Kíli beneath his armpits and lifted him, supporting him against his side as they walked away towards a waiting horse.  Fíli paused only to capture the attention of Dwalin, who looked as though he’d been to the underworld and returned to tell the tale. “Tell the men to regroup at the Tombs of the Nobles, near the altars. I’m riding ahead, to take the Pharaoh back to the palace,” Fíli commanded.  Dwalin cast a surprised eye over Kíli’s form, seemingly noticing him for the first time.  After a brief pause he nodded, and then the bald man ran off to gather the remaining survivors. 

Kíli felt like he was in a fog.  He didn’t remember getting on a horse or riding away from battle.  His thoughts remained with the dead.  The cold night air was painful on his face as the horse galloped through the desert, but he took no notice of it.  The Pharaoh closed his eyes sombrely and he leaned back limply against the commander’s form.  He couldn’t escape the sight of blood, the vision of his soldier’s falling and screaming, begging even for mercy.  Flakes of blood fell away from his fingers as he rubbed them together, and he grimaced, holding down the bile that wanted to come up. 

“Are you okay?” Fíli asked, his voice a gentle lull in the brunet’s ear.  It was such a contrast to the last time they spoke that Kíli almost thought he was another person altogether.  But as he turned his head slightly and caught sight of a few stray blond hairs, there was no doubt that it was the same man.  Kíli couldn’t bring himself to respond.  He wasn’t okay.  But how could he say that when he’d survived and so many had died for his sake.  His fingers clenched into fists as his eyes burned with unshed tears.  He remained silent the rest of the ride home, and even when the commander’s arm wrapped around his torso and thick fingers splayed across Kíli’s belly, it did little to comfort his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Montu** \- Falcon headed god of war, originally a manifestation of the scorching effect of the sun, Ra  
>  **Naharin** \- Ancient Egyptian term for the kingdom of the Mitanni  
>  **The Tombs of the Nobles** \- Located to the North of Akhetaten, burial grounds for high ranking officials and royalty


	5. Chapter 4: Amun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW it's basically been a year since I updated this. So very sorry! It's been a bad year in terms of writing for me. But, I'm feeling a bit reinvigorated. So hopefully I can have more progress from now on for a variety of my stories. I did a lot of shuffling around with my plot for this one and I finally have it at a place I feel satisfied with. Hope you enjoy it too!

* * *

The hours dragged by as Kíli’s unfocused gaze stared blankly at the ripples moving across the top of a decorative pool.  His fingers dipped just beneath the surface of the water, and he leaned over the stone edge despondently.  There had been no word from the battlefront, not so much as a hint of news.  Three days, he had sat, waiting, wondering, wishing there was something he could do to help.  Three days he had been assaulted by his own guilt.  When his eyes closed, he was haunted by memories of blood covered faces and terrified eyes.  When they were open, he saw shadows in the corners, dead soldiers back to taunt him for his weakness.

A movement in a nearby alcove had Kíli jerking in surprise, and the brunet sat upright, twisting his head around in a hurry.  His heart pounded in his chest, but he deflated in relief the moment Fíli’s blond locks came into view.  The other man looked tired, but sported no obvious injuries. 

“Have you defeated them?” Kíli asked.  His voice was soft, a near whisper.  He was afraid to hear the answer.  Either way, too many innocent men had died.

“We’ve only pushed them back,” Fíli voiced in response. “They will return again, but for now, we are safe.” Kíli swallowed as he lowered his gaze and pressed his fingers together anxiously.  He could still feel the blood caked beneath his fingernails.  No amount of washing would ever clean it away.  His thoughts wandered once again to the soldiers that had already died for this cause. The next battle would almost certainly be a loss without the time to train new warriors or the resources to craft better weapons. He didn’t understand the need for such a meaningless war. Kíli turned away again, slumping on the stone slab as his gaze returned to the water. 

“I’m glad you are unhurt,” he whispered forlornly.  There was silence for some time, and Kíli thought the other man had left him to his wallowing, but a soft scuffing across the floor told him otherwise. 

“I’ve brought you something,” Fíli voiced from far closer than before.  Kíli turned back towards him, his lips parting slightly as he eyed the necklace hanging from the blond’s fingers. It was shaped like a bird, wings lined with gold that spread out to its sides. It was absolutely stunning. “It’s an amulet, it should grant you some protection.”

“It’s…beautiful, but why?” Kíli asked, and he reached out to gently touch the many gemstones and glass beads inlaid in the jewellery.  Fíli took that moment to slide it over Kíli’s head, and the wings settled against his collarbone and framed his neck as though it had been designed just for him.

“You are reckless, and…I owe you my life,” Fíli spoke, eyes lingering on the necklace for a moment before his gaze rose to meet Kíli’s dark irises. “The men won’t stop talking about it, how brave you were.”

“Really?” Kíli blurted, perking up as he sat a bit straighter atop the stone.  He grinned slightly, his eyes alight with joy.  It was a welcome sight after so many days devoid of such emotion.  Fíli’s lips twitched slightly and he nearly smiled at the sight of the Pharaoh’s lightened spirit, but unfortunately there were more serious matters to attend to and he remained stoic as always.

“But you are not to do it again, understood?” Fíli insisted.  His gaze spoke volumes, and left little room for argument.  The grin slipped from Kíli’s face faster than it had appeared, and he lowered his chin without a word. “The battlefront is not where you belong.  You must understand that your condition makes you a burden in war, rather than an asset.”

Kíli flinched at the harsh words and turned away, looking back down at the water with lifeless eyes.  He knew better than any how much of a burden he was. He had been unprepared for such a fight. Unaware of how his condition would rend him nearly useless in a war.  He should have listened.  Fíli had been distracted by him, and his intervention had even driven the commander away from the battle.  And not only that…

He had…

“Your people are already in a time of great despair, you cannot risk dying and leaving this kingdom in such unrest.  You could do great things for your people, but you must be alive to do them,” Fíli added. “War is not a game.”

“I know that!” Kíli shouted, turning back towards the commander in a rush.  His hair whipped about his face, and his eyes betrayed his inner anger.  Fíli stared right back, and in no time at all Kíli felt his heated expression slipping.  His lips pursed, and he felt his eyes burning, but he blinked away the tears before they had a chance to escape.

“I know…,” Kíli whispered, once again peering into the rippling water. “Bofur is dead because of me.” There was a long silence after that, and then the commander sat beside him, and lifted his chin with a single finger.

“You are our Pharaoh. It is our duty to protect you, he died honourably,” Fíli said earnestly.  The words did little to comfort Kíli, but he sighed and closed his eyes briefly, trying to will away his sorrow.

 “What _can_ I do?” Kíli asked. He was desperate.  Desperate for anything that would give him a renewed sense of purpose. 

“You may not be able to train your body, but you can train your mind. There are other ways to aid in war than by throwing spears.  Be there for your people, speak with the gods.  Have faith that this too shall pass,” Fíli advised.  When Kíli opened his eyes it was with determination.  He was done with wallowing.    

* * *

His days were spent amongst writings of old, learning about wars of the past, the Pharaohs that came before him, and the stars.  When he wasn’t studying he listened to his people.  They told him stories of their lives, their wants, their needs.  Through him they spoke to their gods, and Kíli took in the names, and learned their stories too.  His frustration however continued.  War still loomed on the edge of their land.  Though the battle had stalled, any day it could start again, the troops waiting for a mere signal at their camps.  And perhaps that day would be the end of them all.

It was a warm evening, and Kíli fanned himself leisurely, doing his best to ward off the sheen of sweat that began coating his skin.  Ori sat beside him, and the two watched the sun setting across the desert from within the palace walls.  Soon the constellations would begin appearing in the sky.  Kíli liked looking at the stars, liked imagining the gods looking down upon him, the Pharaohs that came before watching over him.  And Ori knew everything there was to know about them.  One day he would make a good priest.

“I know that my place is not on the battlefront,” Kíli commented as the horizon shifted in colour.  Reds and pinks cascaded across the sky as the sun became little more than a slit atop the sand. “But…doing nothing, does not sit well,” he sighed.  Another day had passed, another day without a solution.

“Perhaps you should seek guidance, from the gods,” Ori suggested.  “There is no better time than now.”

Kíli watched the first stars appear in the sky, frowning as he imagined speaking to the gods himself.  He had listened to his people do so often, but he had never attempted to himself.  Would they cast him aside?  Would they deem him unworthy of their aid?

“You think they will listen?” Kíli asked.

“Of course they will, you are the Pharaoh,” Ori claimed proudly.  He reached beneath his robes and pulled out a small figure he had tucked away, ducking his head in embarrassment as he revealed the idol in its entirety.  Kíli’s eyes widened as he took in the tiny sculpture, and he reached out and grasped it between his fingers gently.  It was likely Ori had possessed it even when doing so could have cost him his life. “It is Amun.  It was…my mother’s,” Ori explained.  Kíli frowned at the words.  It was yet another loss as a result of his father’s actions.  It was a wonder that Ori even enjoyed his company at all.  Kíli bowed his head in thanks, and then knelt as he had on the day of his coronation.  He winced as his bad leg accommodated his weight, but he wanted to do this right.  

“Amun, I…,” Kíli began. His eyes settled on the idol, and he struggled to find the right words.  “I am not worthy of your guidance.  I have made many mistakes.  I have caused the death of another, and burdened many.   But I want to do more, for my people, for my kingdom,” Kíli voiced softly.  He met Ori’s gaze, and his friend nodded at him in encouragement.  “I am so lost.  I feel helpless in this weak body.  What can I do to put an end to this war?” he asked, looking around him briefly before letting out a long sigh.

Kíli nibbled on his lip slightly, waiting for any kind of sign, but none came.  He closed his eyes sadly, and Ori grasped his hands as they sat in silence.  The only sound that met his ears was the light rustling of the nearby plants. When he opened his eyes, Ori smiled at him gently, and Kíli offered a weak one in return.  Had the gods forsaken him?  Had he waited too long to speak with them?

He was a moment away from speaking when a soft breeze blew through his hair, several strands flying into his face.  It was the only warning he had for what came next.  The wind picked up speed, swirling about him so fast he felt as though he was inside a sand storm.  The parchment in the room scattered, flying about in disarray, and Ori cried out as they were surrounded by a whirlwind of papers, twisting about their forms in a rush.  All at once the wind stopped, and the scrolls and parchment floated back the ground as if it had never happened at all.  Kíli watched them settle with wide eyes, hands still held in front of his body in defense.  He blinked in surprise as a single piece of parchment glided into his lap, and stared down at the carefully written words.       

**_The Maxims of Ptahhotep_ **

_If you are mighty,_  
_then gain respect through knowledge_  
_and through your gentleness of speech._  
_He who steps gently finds his path paved._

Kíli gaped at the passage.  It was a small section of a greater writing, one he remembered glancing through not so long ago.  There were many scrolls he studied with similar messages, but he rarely focused on them, far more interested in the tales of soldiers and the great battles they had fought.  He sat up a bit straighter, and opened and closed his mouth a few times, before grasping the parchment tightly between his fingers.  How could he have been so blind?  The answer had been in front of him all along.

“Kíli, what is it? Are you alright?” Ori asked as he scrambled to Kíli’s side.  He picked up several scrolls that had fallen haphazardly around them, already trying to organize the mess.

“I wonder….Has anyone tried simply talking to them? Listening to them?” Kíli muttered.

“What?  Talking to who?” Ori questioned.

“The Naharin,” Kíli blurted as though it was completely obvious.  For as long as he had been alive they had been at war.  There was not a time in his memory that the army had not been on the verge of battle, or amidst it.  He had no recollection of any other attempt to end the war other than through violence.  And his father certainly was not one for diplomacy.  “I know what I must do,” Kíli stated, reaching out to grab his cane.  “There’s no time to waste, come, help me ready a chariot.”

“W-what? A c-chariot?! Have you gone mad!” Ori’s voice trailed after him, but he paid it no mind, already hobbling through the palace halls.

* * *

Fíli stared out over the mass of bodies and dirt and blood.  Neither army had risked stepping amongst it to retrieve the dead.  At any moment it would begin again and all it would take is the slightest movement across the sands.  He waited, watched.  Biding his time until absolutely necessary.  The few fighters they had were strong, but their numbers were dwindling faster than they could be replaced.  They still lacked the proper equipment for war and the resources to craft more.  He did not wish to admit it, but they were caught in a corner.  It was likely their next battle would be their last. 

But not if he could help it.

He wracked his brain for ideas, some sort of strategy that would give them the advantage in their meagre situation.  Perhaps a few of his men could sneak beyond the enemy lines.  But they were being watched so carefully in return, and if caught that would cost him his finest.  The opposing commander was no fool.  Dain, a man with a will as strong as stone. He would not be so easily bested.

Fíli’s focus was unshakeable, but he could not help but survey his surroundings at a commotion from amongst his men.  They too, waited in silence behind him, but it seemed they had become distracted.  He frowned and turned slightly, ready to chastise them back to attention.  Their voices would carry, alert the enemy, and start the fight before they were ready.  Before he had the chance to utter a word he saw a chariot riding through their encampment at top speed.  It was golden, and embellished with jewels, the royal chariot.  And atop it, the Pharaoh himself.

Fíli’s expression shifted, his brow lowering as he looked upon the young king first in confusion, and soon after anger.  He was riding headlong towards the field, paying no mind to any of the soldiers, his intent clear.

“That fool!” Fíli hissed. Had they not spoke on this very matter just days ago?  Had he not been clear?  Fíli looked around frantically, mounting the nearest horse.  He kicked his heels into its flank and charged, racing against the chariot’s wheels.  If he was lucky he could cut it off before it reached the fields.  He rode through the soldiers, several of them jumping out of the way at the last second.  His eyes narrowed as he watched the distance between them get smaller, and at the last second Fíli gritted his teeth and pulled his horse to a halt in front of the other.  Kíli grasped the edge of his chariot for support as it came to a stuttering stop, his horse reeling upwards in surprise.  It was a wonder he didn’t fall from it, or that it stayed upright at all.  He glanced then at Fíli, finally noticing him, and his eyebrows scrunched up in irritation.

Fíli took a moment to study him, the decadent jewels he wore, the headdress atop his head, the necklace that Fíli had gifted him.  He somehow managed to look a warrior, with the exception of the lack of weapon and the ropes that held his legs tight against the chariot.  No wonder he had not fallen.  The sight of them reminded Fíli why he never should have been there at all.  He growled and dismounted grasping the reins of Kíli’s horse to prevent it from moving again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fíli snarled at him.

“What others have not,” Kíli spoke clearly.  He lifted his chin confidently, and turned away to look across the field.  Already the opposing army was stepping forward, preparing to fight.  The sight of the Pharaoh had clearly alerted them. “I seek council with the Naharin, I wish to negotiate with them.”

“You foolish child!”  Fíli shouted, uncaring who heard him.  He was beyond livid.  All of their hopes of winning this fight had faded in a mere moment because of Kíli’s rash decision. “You think I will simply allow this? The time for council has long since passed,” he barked, one hand grasping the hilt of his khopesh.  Kíli fixated on it for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

“You will allow it, I am your Pharaoh,” he uttered and in that moment Fíli was reminded of his father.  Reminded of the insane gleam so often visible within his eyes. “You can come with me as my army commander, or you can let me do this alone. Not all battles are won with spears, right?” Kíli shot back.

“This is not what I intended!” Fíli exclaimed.  He watched Kíli’s face tremble, saw the way his knuckles turned white where they gripped the chariot tightly.  No, this was not the work of a madman.  But rather a scared boy that wanted so desperately to help.  He could not let this continue any longer.  Fíli drew his blade, and swiped easily through the reins, rendering the chariot immobile.

“No!” Kíli cried desperately, and it was difficult to watch the pain run across Kíli’s face.  But it was for the best.  The young Pharaoh gritted his teeth and ripped the straps from his legs in defiance.  He dismounted with great difficulty and barely managed a step without his cane, though the determination did not leave him.

“Are you planning to walk into the enemy army now?” Fíli goaded, regretting the words slightly for the hurt they clearly caused.  Kíli propped himself up against the chariot, already exhausted from the effort it took to get there.  He would not be pleased, and it was likely Fíli would suffer for it, but he could not let Kíli walk to his death. “Stop acting like a child!”  Fíli ordered, sparing him a final glance before turning towards his men.  He wouldn’t get more than a few feet by himself.

There was a war cry in the distance, and the Naharin army raised their arms, charging into the fields ahead.  Fíli clenched his fists in anger.  He had little choice now, but he would not allow his army to be overrun.  He shouted commands to his men as he charged into battle.  His feet slammed against the tough soil, and he jumped over the dead, swerving to avoid the arrows that soared past his head.  He could see the opposing commander, hear the growls of the men, and as he raised his sword to the skies, the world shifted and his body dropped into the earth. 

Fíli let out a surprised shout as his feet sunk several feet underground.  He gasped and looked about him, watching as his men suffered a similar fate.  There were chariots disappearing into the dirt, the men atop them watching as though aboard a sinking ship.  The horses whinnied and thrashed in the sticky mud, and as he raised his eyes to meet the enemy he saw them struggling to climb out of the ground to no avail.  There were screams and shouts all around him, people afraid and confused.

“What…what on…what is this?” Fíli gasped.

“Quicksand?” Dwalin shouted at his side, and the bald man pushed against the ground uselessly, his hands becoming stuck as well.  Fíli held his hands up high, doing his best to avoid losing control of even them, and he was further surprised when the soil hardened around his legs, sealing him in place.  He was so distracted that he hardly noticed the shouts of his men from behind him.  Only when two glowing feet stepped beside him did Fíli’s gaze lift from the ground.  He let out a breath of air, felt a shiver run over his skin, and his eyes widened as they latched onto Kíli’s ethereal form at his side.  The Pharaoh turned glowing eyes upon him, and Fíli swallowed as he stared up at him in awe.

“Your…your eyes…,” Fíli trailed off, glancing down his ghostlike form to where his feet glided across the ground.  He was walking.  Walking without a cane, without any sort of aid.  “H-how?” Fíli stuttered frightfully.  Kíli’s face softened, and he reached out, gently caressing the side of Fíli’s face. 

“Do not be afraid my Ra.  The gods guide me. Lay down your arms,” he spoke, his voice like the wind.  He stood tall, body shimmering in the moonlight.  His hair swirled around his face like it had a life of its own, no longer contained beneath his headdress, and his feet and legs showed no sign of weakness.  The jewels that adorned him glittered about his neck and shoulders, and his eyes glowed brightly to match them. Fíli had never felt fear such as he did in that moment.  Not even amidst battle.  It was impossible. He looked not at Kíli, but at a _god_.

“A-Amun,” Fíli wheezed, dropping his khopesh to the ground.  He was frozen in place, not only by the soil his feet had sunk into, but by the command of a greater power.  There was a strange pained smile upon the Pharaoh’s face, and his hand slipped away as he walked onwards, approaching the opposing commander.  Dain too held his blade up in defense despite being unable to move.

“What magic is this? What curse have you placed upon us now?” Dain shouted, his arms shaking as his fingers slipped about the hilt of his sword.

“I mean you no harm.  Please, lay down your weapons, I wish only to end this meaningless bloodshed,” Kíli swore.  He held his hands out to his side in a gesture of peace.

“And I should trust you? A demon! No wonder your father betrayed us! I would have your kingdom rot for the suffering it has caused our people,” Dain claimed.  He still shook slightly, clinging to his sword in desperation.  For a moment, all Kíli did was stare.  He did not move nearer, and no trace of frustration appeared upon his face, as it normally would have when faced with someone so volatile. 

“I understand your anger,” he whispered, clasping his hands together as he lowered his gaze.  “I deeply regret the pain you have suffered.  So many lives lost, on both sides,” he added, and his face crumpled as he looked around the battlefield at the dead that still littered the ground.  They deserved proper burials, each one of them.  They deserved to be remembered for their sacrifice.

Dain too studied the fields at their sides, his grip loosening as he let his sword lower.  He gritted his teeth at the sight of so many bodies left abandoned.  He eyed his remaining men, clinging to each other for support, stuck in the ground with no escape.  Young men, too young to die.

“I am not my father,” Kíli claimed, and Dain’s attention returned to him, taking in the sorrow upon his equally as young face. “There is little I can do to alter the past, but perhaps our future could be a prosperous one.  A future without this war, a future in which our kingdoms stand side by side in battle once again.  Where our people could live without fear.”  He stepped closer, close enough that he could have been struck down.  And though Dain’s grip tightened upon his weapon, this time he did not raise it.

“Please, tell me what I can do to end this fighting.  I will listen,” Kíli promised.  He held out his hand, and Dain jolted as he was released from the sand.  He skipped forwards, staggering as he found his balance and then looked into the Pharaoh’s still glowing eyes.  He reached out hesitantly, and Kíli made no attempt to move away, even as fingers gently touched his own.  Dain blinked in surprise, shocked to find he was solid, and real, and then his sword fell to the ground with a clatter as he stared at Kíli in wonder. 

“I too would like that future,” Dain voiced.

Kíli smiled then, and he turned towards the battlefield as the other men were released all at once.  They climbed free of the dirt about their legs, laying down their weapons one by one as they realised the war had ended.  There were hushed whispers, clangs and clatters as the armies gathered in the field together unsure what came next.  They had much to discuss.  But one thing was certain. 

They had peace.

Kíli looked up at the stars gratefully, watching them twinkle in the night’s sky.  It was so much more serene without the cries and shouts of soldiers dying in vain, and he felt a lightness in his heart that had been absent for days.  Though it was short-lived.  The Pharaoh lurched as the stars began shifting above him, moving in and out of focus as his breathing quickened.  His vision blurred, and he swayed on his feet as the glow faded from his form.  His hair settled around his shoulders limply, and his body slouched without the support of a cane to hold him upright. He took a single pained step backwards and winced.  He felt so very heavy.  Kíli blinked blearily as his head throbbed angrily and then his eyelids drooped as his body slumped towards the ground.  He heard someone shout his name, felt strong arms catch his frame, and then there was nothing but darkness to greet him.

* * *

_A city surrounded him, only slightly obscured by a swirling mist.  Still, he was sure he had never seen it before.  He would have remembered such decadence, such beautiful art.  The structures stood tall, the temples lavish.  He thought it beautiful, though lonely in its desolation.  There were no people there apart from him, and even he felt as though if he reached out the walls would disappear in a cloud of smoke.  He heard whispered voices, calling his name, calling him home, and his gaze settled on the engravings etched into the walls.  At the gods and goddesses beckoning him to come closer. They were accepting him, welcoming him into their realm.  He reached out, his fingers vibrating with an energy he did not understand.  And when he pressed his hands against the stone he woke._

* * *

Everything hurt.  His body felt as though the weight of the world was resting atop it, and Kíli shifted atop the bedding, groaning as his legs throbbed, and his head pounded to match.  Opening his eyes was a struggle, and he fought with great difficulty against the heaviness of his eyelids.  It was far too bright, though the only source of light came from a single potted lamp at his bedside.  He was so groggy it took him several moments to recognize the forms sitting around him.  Balin, the Vizier, Fíli, and even Ori watched him with varied expressions upon their faces. 

“How are you feeling, my Pharaoh,” Balin asked as he struggled to sit up.  He managed hardly an inch before settling back against the many pillows supporting his head. 

“Tired,” Kíli gasped.  His voice sounded scratchy, and his throat ached as the words left him. He accepted the drink pushed into his hands eagerly, taking a few tiny sips.  The liquid soothed his throat, though did little to aid the rest of his pain. He scrunched his eyebrows together trying desperately to recall exactly why he felt so horrid.  Come to think of it, exactly why was everyone staring at him so strangely?

“What is it? You are all looking at me like I possess three heads,” Kíli voiced with narrowed eyes.

“If Fíli’s words are to be believed, he has been witness to something even greater,” Balin mentioned and he lowered his chin as he studied Kíli’s face in great detail. “Do you not remember?”

It was strange.  His mind was cloudy, and he couldn’t differentiate between what was a dream and what was reality.  Kíli shifted again, wincing when his muscles complained as he sat up slightly. His body was so sore it was difficult to focus on anything else.

“I…I’m not sure,” Kíli muttered.

“Amun spoke through you, you ended the war with the Naharin,” Fíli voiced quietly and Kíli regarded him with great interest.  He sat stiffly atop a stool, hands clasped together so tight his fingers had begun to turn white.  Kíli stared at Fíli for some time, though the commander refused to meet his eyes, not even for a second.  When the blond finally moved it was to grasp at a necklace hanging loosely behind his tunic. A golden feather caught the low lighting in the room, and Kíli tilted his head, wondering how he had never noticed it before.  It must have been something Fíli only did whilst on edge.  Kíli had never seen him look so unsettled before.  He appeared tense, guilty even, and Kíli’s gaze only worsened it. 

He remembered more clearly now. The way Fíli had tried to stop him, the cruel words that were spoken, how helpless he had felt as Fíli walked away from him towards certain death.  Perhaps those actions had not been as easy for the commander as they had seemed.   

“I remember…some of it,” Kíli mentioned, and Balin looked positively overjoyed.  The Vizier however, eyed him warily, as though a ghost might burst forth from his body at any moment.

“Apparently they think you are some kind of spirit, and Fíli believes you possess the power of a god,” the Vizier stated, eyes shifting around the room quickly.  He cleared his throat and stood up from his stool, pacing restlessly at the end of Kíli’s bed. “A ridiculous notion of course.”

“You forget there are hundreds who say the same,” Fíli sneered.  Kíli glanced towards him quickly, though the commander’s eyes remained averted.

There was a hefty sigh from his other side, and Balin stood as well while Ori hurried to arrange several incense pellets on a surface nearby.  “This is no time for fighting. Rest now Pharaoh.  The strain on your body has been great.  If there is anything we can do for you do not hesitate to request it,” Balin insisted.

Kíli lay back down, finding comfort beneath the heavy throw atop his body.  His eyelids were already drooping from the pleasant scents wafting throughout his rooms, but as the sight of the decorative fabrics above began to blur into a mass of foggy shapes, a thought came to his mind.  He wanted to leave all of this pain and sorrow behind.  They needed to distance themselves from this place, from the bloody battlefield so nearby. They needed to return to their roots.  Where they were meant to be all along.

“Hmm…there is one thing,” Kíli slurred.  And he finally caught sight of Fíli’s searching gaze before letting his eyes close. “I think it’s time we returned to our proper home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Maxims of Ptahhotep** \- an ancient Egyptian literary composition based on the Vizier Ptahhotep's wisdom and experiences
> 
> If you would like to see a sketch of Kili from this chapter it's on my tumblr [ here! ](https://shinigami714.tumblr.com/post/176421102691/kili-from-your-place-among-the-stars)


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